Silent Cry
Chills went shooting up my spine as i heard her say what she had to say about him. Ever since he walked out of seventh grade french class, slamming the door behind him and swearing never to come back again, I never heard of him again. I wanted to pick up the phone a few times and call, but you know what puberty can do to one's self esteem. So, in the end, I didn't realise how much time had passed and before i knew it, there she was, telling us that he now lives in Westbahnhof.
The thought of Max, my first major 'crush' (i hesitate to call him this, since my and probably every other 5-6-7th grade girls' devotion extended for years), decomposing somewhere in the corner of one of Vienna's least prestigious landmarks, namely the Westbahnhof (meaning the West Railway Station), sent knives through my heart. I have not experienced such grief and sorrow since a long enough time to forget how much someone can affect your life, in ways you would never have imagined.
She and I -at best some of the closest friends one could encounter, while at worst competitors for his attention- both stood still, each hearing the other's silent cry for him and for his life, as the girl told her story. She said that the last she saw of him and his brother was at Westbahnhof, clearly out of it (high on something or other that made them look frightening to the point that the girl didn't dare speak to them) , hanging beside a food vendor. Apparently that's where they live now. No one saw it coming. Not even their 'friends', who envied their heredatory gifts, or their admirers, who thought no evil could come out of someone so perfect.
I, a combination of a friend and an admirer, could not believe what she was saying. My friend and i looked at each other in disbelief and almost simulstanously suggested something stupid beyond imagination. But it had to be done. We got into her car and drove to the dreaded 'crime scene' (it can be called this because not a single day goes by without the police arresting at least one person for anything between stealing a banana and killing a man).
As we walked into the main hall (at 4am), i felt as though ghosts were all around us. The souls of those who no one cared enough to listen to were haunting us. All the junkie we saw had a look of desperation on their faces. It went beyond the mere need for a pick-up dose...it was still a cry for attention. All ages were represented in these decadent creatures that glided through the station, but it was striking as to how many people of my generation were there, wasting away. Every new shadow i saw made me wonder if it was him, but thankfully he never showed up. I don't know how i would have handled seeing him dying. Let's face it, if he's gotten this far, his journey's destination will no doubt take him further into the depths of dispair, which cannot pretend to be anything other than death. Perhaps not quickly enough, so that his spirit would tail the rest of his wretched existance. If only i knew how to help; how to get him out of his hell. I' so sorry i never heard your cry...please hear mine.
The thought of Max, my first major 'crush' (i hesitate to call him this, since my and probably every other 5-6-7th grade girls' devotion extended for years), decomposing somewhere in the corner of one of Vienna's least prestigious landmarks, namely the Westbahnhof (meaning the West Railway Station), sent knives through my heart. I have not experienced such grief and sorrow since a long enough time to forget how much someone can affect your life, in ways you would never have imagined.
She and I -at best some of the closest friends one could encounter, while at worst competitors for his attention- both stood still, each hearing the other's silent cry for him and for his life, as the girl told her story. She said that the last she saw of him and his brother was at Westbahnhof, clearly out of it (high on something or other that made them look frightening to the point that the girl didn't dare speak to them) , hanging beside a food vendor. Apparently that's where they live now. No one saw it coming. Not even their 'friends', who envied their heredatory gifts, or their admirers, who thought no evil could come out of someone so perfect.
I, a combination of a friend and an admirer, could not believe what she was saying. My friend and i looked at each other in disbelief and almost simulstanously suggested something stupid beyond imagination. But it had to be done. We got into her car and drove to the dreaded 'crime scene' (it can be called this because not a single day goes by without the police arresting at least one person for anything between stealing a banana and killing a man).
As we walked into the main hall (at 4am), i felt as though ghosts were all around us. The souls of those who no one cared enough to listen to were haunting us. All the junkie we saw had a look of desperation on their faces. It went beyond the mere need for a pick-up dose...it was still a cry for attention. All ages were represented in these decadent creatures that glided through the station, but it was striking as to how many people of my generation were there, wasting away. Every new shadow i saw made me wonder if it was him, but thankfully he never showed up. I don't know how i would have handled seeing him dying. Let's face it, if he's gotten this far, his journey's destination will no doubt take him further into the depths of dispair, which cannot pretend to be anything other than death. Perhaps not quickly enough, so that his spirit would tail the rest of his wretched existance. If only i knew how to help; how to get him out of his hell. I' so sorry i never heard your cry...please hear mine.
posted by FrOmDeSeRtToSeA at 10/24/2005 12:31:00 AM
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